


Limbic Resonance (Drabble Collection - Prompts A - Z)

by interruptedmuse



Category: Call of Duty
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-18
Updated: 2016-06-18
Packaged: 2018-07-15 19:51:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7236151
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/interruptedmuse/pseuds/interruptedmuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>[Prompt - Apprehensive] - 'Riley fights it at first, pressing forward as John tries to pull him back, but if his Captain has ever been anything, its patient – and eventually, grudgingly, Riley lets himself be pulled. He steps back, expecting John to step back with him – not expecting to suddenly be pulled flush against the other man’s chest.' // Drabble Series. A - Z Prompts. Slash.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Limbic Resonance (Drabble Collection - Prompts A - Z)

It’s irrational. Stupid. Fucking _pathetic_. But even though he knows all of that with a certain kind of brutal clarity, Simon ‘Ghost’ Riley can’t stop the anxiety growing in his gut. Stabbing like a knife and twisting. Raining down on his composure, and seeping through the cracks.

 

The door’s closed. Slammed shut, and as Riley grips the handle and tugs, trying to ignore the growing pressure in his head, he realises something worse.

 

It’s _locked_.

 

From behind him, he hears a clatter. A muffled curse. The sound of somebody fumbling around , lost, in the darkness.

 

“Ah, shite,” John ‘Soap’ MacTavish mutters, close, despite not being able to see a thing. The Captain had a bloody good sense of direction, though in a room two metres square, it could have been simple luck. “Are we stuck in here again? Someone needs to bloody fix this door.”

 

There’s irritation in his voice, though Riley barely registers it as he gives the knob another twist, his palm slipping slightly as it starts to sweat. The pressure is increasing its tempo, building in his body, making it difficult to breathe. Darkness, and tiny little fucking rooms. They were the stuff of nightmares. _His_ nightmares.

 

He swallows, _hard_ , a tremor running down his spine. It’s too black for him to notice the clouding of his peripherals – tunnel vision one of the few warning signs of an incoming attack. The others were an odd buzzing in his ears – a sharp rattling in his lungs as he started panting for air and...

 

“Riley, move. Let me have a lo-“

 

A hand lands on his shoulder, the sudden contact sending him jerking forward, colliding with the far too solid door before his brain sluggishly puts two and two together. There are only two people in the room, and the Scottish burr of John is rumbling near enough that the man’s hot breath is tickling his ear. He knows who it is. He _knows_ , but that doesn’t stop his heart thumping a mile a minute.

 

Doesn’t change the fact that he’s losing his shit in front of his Captain, either.

 

There’s silence for a few beats, John utterly still as the man’s analytical mind kicks in, assessing the situation, the reaction, arriving, inevitably, at a conclusion. One that Riley regrets – wishes he can erase from John’s mind. Fuck it, he hates being weak. _Hates it_ with every fibre of his being.

 

A second passes. Two. Then there’s a hand back on his shoulder, squeezing lightly, gently. It makes him frustrated, angry, _furious_ at himself that he actually feels reassured.

 

“It’s just me, Riley,” John murmurs quietly, thumb instinctively rubbing small little circles. Trying to ease the tension. Riley squeezes his eyes shut, trying to block it out. Trying to, but not wanting it to stop.

_You’re such a useless cunt, Simon._

 

“I fucking know that,” he rasps, voice hoarse with strain. Still against the door, there’s nowhere he can go to evade the Captain, no way to easily pull out of his grip. More trapped than he was a minute before. “Just... make some bloody noise if you’re going to sit in my fucking blind spot.”

 

Not that John hadn’t been making noise – Riley just hadn’t heard it. Or he had, he just hadn’t... _fuck it_. He didn’t know.

 

“...Alright,” John doesn’t bite back. Not that he would. He never has, even when Riley has earned it. “No more blind spots, aye? But I do need to look at the door-”

 

Step back into the darkness, with the walls closing in? Not bloody likely.  
  


“I’ve got it.”  
  


“Riley-“

 

“I fucking said I have it.”

 

A soft sigh from behind him. Then there’s another hand, touching his torso in polite warning, before slowly wrapping around it. Riley fights it at first, pressing forward as John tries to pull him back, but if his Captain has ever been anything, its patient – and eventually, grudgingly, Riley lets himself be pulled. He steps back, expecting John to step back with him – _not expecting_ to suddenly be pulled flush against the other man’s chest.

 

Riley grunts, surprised, not entirely sure what to do. John is solid, dependable. _Warm_ , with their bodies pressed so close. On a good day, he wouldn’t have minded so much. Because they’d done that before. Been _close_. Physically, maybe even a little emotionally, if Riley was being completely honest. But today wasn’t a good day, today he was weak. _Vulnerable_ , and he didn’t need a _fucking hug_.

 

He’s about to wrench free. Knock John off, not-so-nicely, when John’s chin drops onto his shoulder, the man’s cheek rubbing against Riley’s – his nose nuzzling as he turns to talk in his ear. “You with me?”

 

Goosebumps rise on Riley’s skin, his mouth going dry. He tilts his head without thinking, giving John better access as the first kiss lands on his neck. A moan teases itself from his lips, before he can stop it.

 

“Where the bloody hell else would I be?”

 

He’s breathless again, but this time for an entirely different reason.

 

“Good.” John hums. Riley feels the vibration. Enjoys it, for the brief moment it lasts. “Turn around for me.”

 

That makes him pause, the idea of being face to face with his Captain, right now, in this moment, leaving him more than a little hesitant. “Why?”

 

He felt John’s lips quirk against. “Are you questioning my orders, Lieutenant?”

 

“With the amount of shit decisions you make, somebody has to.”

 

John chuckles, low and throaty. “Turn around, Riley.”

 

There’s an authoritative note in his tone – one Riley can’t ignore. John’s hand slips to squeeze his forearm, as though taking the edge off. He was asking as a friend, or... or whatever they were. And that’s what does it – that’s what makes him ignore those deadly little voices whispering in his ear, if only for a second.

 

Slowly, Riley turns, his heart skittering again as he puts his back towards his only escape. John is still holding him, no doubt feeling the tension, the pressure that’d eased twinging for a second time. He can’t see John all that well in the dark, despite his eyes having time to adjust – just a silhouette, one that moved closer, and closer, and _closer_. Backing him up until he was sandwiched between the door and John.

 

John reached up, fingers carding through Riley’s hair. Thumb stroking the creases out of his forehead. He leaned forward, pressed a kiss against his lips.  “That’s better.”

 

And it was. With John’s scent filling his nose and his voice rumbling out of the darkness and his fingers touching, rubbing, stroking, soothing away anything that wasn’t a tepid calmness, Riley didn’t have time to think of much else. Didn’t have time until whatever the hell it was John was doing with the door handle -  the Captain’s free hand having started fiddling with it the moment he had Riley squared away - finally paid off.

 

A loud, guttural noise – John strains slightly as his arm begins to force open the door. Light flooded into the room, blinding them both, but Riley most of all as John shoves him out. Hard and fast, before he can think to dive out himself. He stumbles a little, mildly disoriented, his hand catching the wall of the hallway for balance, eyes squinting as he tries to adjust. The pressure that’d been weighing heavily on him vanishes, his composure solidifying now that he’s out in the open. In the light.

_Fucking Christ_ , did he never want to do that shit again.

 

He doesn’t think to check on John until the Captain appears at his side, deep blue eyes sparking with concern. This time when the other man touches him, it’s in the way a brother would – the hand clasping his shoulder only friendly. In that moment, almost traitorously, Riley suddenly aches for more.

 

“You good, Lieutenant?”

 

Riley swallows. Breathes in deeply through his nose. Doesn’t look at him. “Yes, sir.”

_Out here where the world can see, they have to play the game._

 

John says nothing of the formality, though if Riley had been paying attention, he might have caught the tightening around his Captain’s eyes. “Do you need me?”

 

What the fuck kind of question was that? Straightening, Riley scrubs a hand over his face. Finally meets John’s gaze, the sharp, curt, brutal ‘ _no_ ’ catching in his throat. The thing about John? He cared. More than Riley thought someone should. Worse? John cared about people who probably didn’t deserve it. People like _him_. And when he asked something like that, you knew that if you said ‘yes’, he’d give you everything he could. Right now, if Riley said ‘yes’...

_And fuck, did he want to._

 

If he did...

 

He can’t.

 

He can’t, but...

 

“...I just need to walk it off.”

 

It’s not a refusal. He doesn’t think he has it in him to do that, not when it still feels good, having John hovering. Being there, being _close_. Riley is a fucking selfish cunt, he knows, but he’s not about to stop.

 

Next to him, John nods once, a flicker of understanding in his expression. “Well if you do,” he straightens, jerks his head back towards the nightmare. “I still need to sort that bloody requisition order. I’ll keep the door open.”

 

Riley isn’t sure what to say. He nods, of course. Let’s John know that he’s heard him.  Watches as his Captain ambles back towards storage, hands in his pockets – Riley’s funny five minutes a secret safely kept between them. It’s only when John’s across the threshold and kicking a make-shift door stop in place that that he feels it – the _need_. Not for company, but for a specific _kind_ of company. Company that carried a Mohawk and a voice that could... well, it could do almost _anything_ to him.

_Fuck_ , was he really even considering it? After what had just happened?

 

He takes one step, then another. Stalls, eyeing the door. Apprehensive.

 

“Sir?”

 

John’s there in an instant, all 6’1” of him leaning back into the hall. There’s a clipboard in one hand, but his sole focus is Riley, his head tilted to one side. Words roll off of his tongue, despite them both knowing they don’t need to be spoken. “I’m here.”

 

It’s all he needs.

 

Riley takes the final step.

**Author's Note:**

> // This is the first time I've written this pairing, so please be patient while I get the hang of it?! Any feedback is of course welcome and much appreciated!
> 
> I also want to mention, in case it's confusing - my interpretation of Ghost prefers to be called by his surname, 'Riley' x). This is why Soap calls him it so much!


End file.
